"They can't take Mark," Glint said. "He's under the jurisdiction of our Juvenile Court." "I need to talk to Harry. But he's out of town." "Where is he?" "Fishing somewhere with his sons." "This is more important than fishing, Reggie. Let's find him. He can stop it, can't he?" She was thinking of a hundred things at once. "This is pretty slick, Glint. Think about it. Foltrigg waits until late Friday to serve subpoenas for Monday morning." "How can he do this?" "It's easy. He just did it. In a criminal case like this, a federal grand jury can subpoena any witness from anywhere, regardless of time and distance. And the witness must appear unless he or she can first quash the subpoena." "How do you quash one?" "You file a motion in federal court to void the subpoena." "Lemme guess, federal court in New Orleans?" "That's right. We're forced to find the trial judge early Monday morning in New Orleans and beg him to allow an emergency hearing to quash the subpoena." "It won't work, Reggie." "Of course it won't work. That's the way Foltrigg planned it." She gulped the diet Coke. "Do you have any coffee?" "Sure." He began opening drawers.
Reggie was thinking out loud". "If I can dodge the subpoena until Monday, Foltrigg will be forced to issue u nave time to quash. The problem is Mark. They're not after me, because they know they can't force me to talk." "Do you know where the damned body is, Reg-gie?" "No." "Does Mark?" "Yes." He froze for a moment, then ran water in the pot.
"We have to figure out a way to keep Mark here, Glint. We can't allow him to go to New Orleans." "Call Harry." "Harry's fishing in the mountains." "Then call Harry's wife. Find out where he's fishing in the mountains. I'll go get him if necessary." "You're right." She grabbed the phone and started calling.
. TINAL ROOM CHECK AT THE JUVENILE DETENTION CENTER was 10 P. M., when they made sure all lights and televisions were off. Mark heard Telda rattling keys and givi-ing commands across the hall. His shirt was soaked, unbuttoned, and sweat ran to his navel and puddled around the zipper of his jeans. The television was off. His breathing was heavy. His thick hair was watery and rows of sweat ran to his eyebrows and dripped from the tip of his nose. She was next door. His face was crimson and hot.
Telda knocked, then unlocked Mark's door. The light was on and this immediately irritated her. She took a step inside, glanced at the bunks, but he wasn't there.
Then she saw his feet beside the toilet. He was curled tightly with his knees on his chest, motionless except for rapid, heavy breathing.
His eyes were closed and his left thumb was in his mouth.
"Mark!" she shouted, suddenly terrified. "Mark! Oh my God!" She ran from the room to get help, and… ". j^vyiiu:, wmi Ljenny, tier partner, who took a. quick look.
"Doreen was worried about this," Denny said, touching the sweat on Mark's stomach. "Damn, he's soaking wet." Telda was pinching his wrist. "His pulse is crazy. Look at him breathe. Call an ambulance!" "The poor kid's in shock, isn't he?" "Go call an ambulance!" Denny lumbered from the room and the floor shook. Telda picked Mark up and carefully placed him on the bottom bunk, where he curled again and brought his knees to his chest. The thumb never left his mouth. Denny was back with a clipboard. "This must be Doreen's handwriting. Says here to check on him every half hour, and if there's any doubt, to rush him to St. Peter's and call Dr. Greenway." "This is all my fault," Telda said. "I shouldn't have allowed those damned marshals in here. Scared the poor boy to death." Denny knelt beside her, and with a thick thumb peeled back the right eyelid. "Damn! His eyes have rolled back. This kid's in trouble," he said with all the gravity of a brain surgeon.
"Get a washcloth over here," Telda said, and Denny did as told. "Doreen was telling me this is what happened to his little brother. They saw that shooting on Monday, both of them, and the little one's been in shock ever since." Denny handed her the cloth and she wiped Mark's forehead.
"Damn, his heart's gonna explode," Denny said, on his knees again next to Telda. "He's breathing like crazy." "Poor kid. I should've run those marshals off," Telda said.
"I would have. They got no right coming on this floor." He jabbed another thumb into the left eye, and Mark groaned and twitched. Then he started the moaning, just like Ricky, and this scared them even more. A low, dull, pitchless sound from deep in the throat. He sucked hard on the thumb.
A paramedic from the main jail three floors down ran into the room, followed by another jailer. "What's up?" he asked as Telda and Denny moved.
"I think it's called traumatic shock or stress or something," Telda said. "He's been acting strange all day, then about an hour ago two U. S. marshals were here to give him a subpoena." The paramedic was not listening. He gripped a wrist and found the pulse. Telda rattled on. "They scared him to death, and I think it sent him into shock. I should've watched him after that, but I got busy." "I would've run those damned marshals off," Denny said. They stood side by side behind the paramedic.
"This is what happened to his little brother, you know, the one who's been in the newspaper all week. The shooting and all." "He's gotta go," the paramedic said, standing, frowning, and talking into his radio. "Hurry up with the stretcher to the fourth floor," he barked into it. "Got a kid in bad shape." Denny stuck the clipboard in front of the paramedic. "Says here to take him to St. Peter's. Dr. Green-way." "That's where his brother is," Telda added. "Doreen told me all about it. She was worried this sne aimost sent tor an ambulance this afternoon. Said he's been slipping away all day. I should've been more careful." The stretcher arrived with two more paramedics.
— Mark was quickly laid on it and covered with a blanket. A strap was placed across his thighs and another on his-chest. His eyes never opened, but he managed to keep the thumb in his mouth.
And he managed to emit the painful, monotonous groan that frightened the paramedics and sped the stretcher along. It rolled quickly past the front station, and into an elevator.
"You ever seen this before?" one paramedic mumbled under his breath to the other.
"Not that I recall." "He's burning up." "The skin is normally cool and clammy with shock. I've never seen this." "Yeah. Maybe traumatic shock is different. Check out that thumb." "Is this the kid the mob's after?" "Yeah. Front page today and yesterday." "I guess he's gone over the edge." The elevator stopped, and they pushed the stretcher hurriedly through a series of short hallways, all busy and filled with the usual Friday night madness of city jail. A set of double doors flew open, and they were at the ambulance.
The ride to St. Peter's took less than ten minutes, half as long as the wait once they arrived. Three other ambulances were in the process of depositing their occupants. St. Peter's received the vast majority of Memphis knife wounds, gunshot victims, beaten wives, and mangled bodies from weekend car wrecks. The pace was hectic twenty-four hours a day, but from sunset Friday until late Sunday, the place was in chaos.
They rolled him through the bay and onto the white-tiled floors, where the stretcher stopped and the paramedics waited and filled out forms. A small army of nurses and doctors scrambled around a new patient and all yelled at the same time. People ran in every direction. A half dozen cops milled about. Three more stretchers were parked haphazardly in the wide hallway.
A nurse ventured by, stopped for a second, and asked the paramedics, "What is it?" One of them handed her a form.
"So he's not bleeding," she said, as if nothing mattered except flowing blood.
"No. Looks like stress or shock or something. Runs in the family." "He can wait. Roll him to Intake. I'll be back in a minute." And she was off.
They wove the stretcher through heavy traffic, and stopped in a small room off the main hallway. The forms were presented to another nurse, who scribbled something without looking at Mark. "Where's Dr. Greenway?" she asked the paramedics.
They looked at each other, and shrugged at the nurse.
"You haven't called him?" she asked.
"Well, no." "Well, no," she repeated to herself, and rolled her eyes. What a couple of dumbasses. "Look, this is a war zone, okay. We're talking blood and guts. We've lost two people in that hallway right there in the past thirty minutes. Psychiatric emergencies do not get top priority around here." iuu want us to shoot him?" one of them said, nodding at Mark, and this really pissed her off.
"No. I want you to leave. I'll take care of him, but you guys just get the hell out of here." "You signed the forms, lady. He's all yours." They smiled at her, and headed for the door.
"Is there a policeman with him?" she asked.
"Nope. He's just a juvenile." They were gone.
Mark managed to roll onto his left side and bring his knees to his chest. The straps were not tight. His eyes opened slightly. A black man was lying across three chairs in one corner of the room. An empty stretcher with blood on the sheets was by a green door next to a water fountain. The nurse answered the phone, said a few words, and left the room. Mark quickly unhooked the straps and jumped to the floor. There was no crime in walking around. He was a nut case now, so what if she caught him on his feet.
The forms she'd been holding were on the counter. He grabbed them, and pushed the stretcher through the green door, which led to a cramped corridor with small rooms on both sides. He abandoned the stretcher and threw the forms in a garbage can. The exit signs led to a door with a window in it. It opened into the madhouse of Admissions.
Mark smiled to himself. He'd been here before. He watched the chaos through the window and picked the spot where he and Hardy had stood after Greenway and Dianne disappeared with Ricky. He eased through the door, and casually made his way through the snarled throng of sick and wounded trying anxiously to get admitted. Running and darting might attract attention, so he played it cool. He rode his favorite escalator to the basement, and found an empty wheelchair by the stairs. It was adult-size, but he worked the wheels and rolled himself past the cafeteria to the morgue.
GLINT HAD FALLEN ASLEEP ON THE SOFA. LETTERMAN WAS almost over when the phone rang. Reggie grabbed it. "Hello." "Hi, Reggie. It's me, Mark." "Mark! How are you, dear?" "Doing great, Reggie. Just wonderful." "How'd you find me?" she asked, turning off the TV.
"I called Momma Love and woke her. She gave me this number. It's Glint's place, right?" "Right. How'd you get to a phone? It's awful late." "Well, I'm not in jail anymore." She stood and walked to the snack bar. "Where are you, dear?" "At the hospital. St. Peter's." "I see. And how'd you get there?" "They brought me in an ambulance." "Are you okay?" "Great." "Why'd they take you in an ambulance?" "I had an attack of post-traumatic stress syndrome, and they rushed me over." "Should I come see you?" "Maybe. What's this grand jury stuff?" "Nothing but an attempt to scare you into talking." "Well, it worked. I'm more scared than ever." "You sound fine." "Nervous energy, Reggie. I'm scared to death." i mean, you don't sound like you're in shock or anything." "I recovered real quick. I faked them out, Reggie, okay? I jogged in my little cell for half an hour, and when they found me I was soaking wet and in bad shape, as they say." Glint sat up on the sofa and listened intently.
"Have you seen a doctor?" she asked, frowning at Glint.
"Not exactly." "What does that mean?" "It means I walked out of the emergency room. It means I've escaped, Reggie. It was so easy." "Oh my God!" "Relax. I'm fine. I'm not going back to jail, Reggie. And I'm not going to see the grand jury in New Orleans. They'll just lock me up down there, won't they?" "Listen, Mark, you can't do this. You can't escape. You must-" "I've already escaped; Reggie. And you know something?" "What?" "I doubt if anyone knows it yet. This place is so crazy, I doubt if they've missed me yet." "What about the cops?" "What cops?" "Didn't a cop go with you to the hospital?" "No. I'm just a kid, Reggie. I had two huge paramedics, but I'm just a little kid and at the time I was in a coma, sucking my thumb, moaning and groaning, just like Ricky. You'd have been proud. It was like something out of a movie. Once I got here, they turned their backs, and just like that, I walked away." "You can't do this, Mark." "It's done, okay? And I'm not going back." "What about your mother?" "Oh, I talked to her about an hour ago, by phone of course. She freaked out, but I convinced her I was fine. She didn't like it, told me to come to Ricky's room. We had a big fight over the phone, but she settled down. I think she's on pills again." "But you're at the hospital?" "That's right." "Where? In which room?" "Are you still my lawyer?" "Of course I'm your lawyer." "Good. So if I tell you something, you can't repeat it, right?" "Right." "Are you my friend, Reggie?" "Of course I'm your friend." "That's good, because right now you're the only friend I have. Will you help me, Reggie? I'm really scared." "I'll do anything, Mark. Where are you?" "In the morgue. There's a little office in the corner, and I'm hiding under the desk. The lights are off. If I hang up real quick, you'll know somebody walked in. They've brought in two bodies while I've been here, but so far no one's come to the office." "The morgue?" Glint bolted to his feet and stood beside her.
"Yeah. I've been here before. I know this place pretty well, remember." "Sure." "Who's in the morgue?" Glint whispered. She frowned at him and shook her head.
"Mom said they have a subpoena for you too, Reggie. Is this true?" "Yes, but they haven't served me. That's why I'm here at Glint's. If they don't hand me the subpoena, then I don't have to go." "So you're hiding too?" "I guess." Suddenly his end clicked and the dial tone followed. She stared at the receiver, then quickly placed it on the phone. "He hung up," she said.
"What the hell's going on!" Glint asked.
"It's Mark. He's escaped from jail." "He what!" "He's hiding in the morgue at St. Peter's." She said this as if she didn't believe it. The phone rang, and she snatched it. "Hello." "Sorry about that. The door to the morgue opened, then closed. I thought they were bringing in another body." "Are you safe, Mark?" "Hell no, I'm not safe. But I'm a kid, okay. And now I'm a psychiatric case. So if they catch me, I'll just go into shock again and they'll put me in a room. Then I'll figure out another way to escape, maybe." "You can't hide forever." "Neither can you." She marveled once again at his quick tongue. "You're right, Mark. So what do we do?" "I don't know. I really would like to leave Memphis. I'm sick of cops and jails." "Where do you want to go?" "Well, let me ask you something. If you come and get me, and we leave town together, then you could get in trouble for helping me escape. Right?" "Yes. I'd be an accomplice." "What would they do to you?" "We'll worry about that later. I've done worse things." "So you'll help me?" "Yes, Mark. I'll help you." "And you won't tell anybody?" "We may need Glint." "Okay, you can tell Glint. But nobody else, okay?" "You have my word." "And you won't try to talk me into going back to jail?" "I promise." There was a long pause. Glint was near panic.
"Okay, Reggie. You know the main parking lot, the one next to that big green building?" "Yes." "Drive into it, just like you're looking for a place to park. Go real slow. I'll be hiding between some cars." "That place is dark and dangerous, Mark." "It's Friday night, Reggie. Everything around here is dark and dangerous." "But there's a guard in the exit booth." "That guard sleeps half the time. It's a guard, not a cop. I know what I'm doing, okay?" "Are you sure?" "No. But you said you'd help me." "I will. When should I be there?" "As fast as you can." "I'll be in Glint's car. It's a black Honda Accord." "Good. Hurry." "I'm on my way. Be careful, Mark." "Relax, Reggie. This is just like the movies." She hung up, and took a deep breath.
"My car?" Glint asked.
"They're looking for me too." "You're crazy, Reggie. This is insane. You can't run away with an escaped, I don't know, whatever the hell he is. They'll arrest you for contributing. You'll be indicted. You'll lose your license." "Where's my bag?" "In the bedroom." "I need your keys, and your credit cards." "My credit cards! Look, Reggie, I love you, sweetheart, but my car and my plastic?" "How much cash do you have?" "Forty bucks." "Give it here. I'll pay you back." She headed for the bedroom.
"You've lost your mind." "I've lost it before, remember." "Come on, Reggie." "Get a grip, Glint. We're not blowing anything. I've got to help Mark. He's sitting in a dark office in the morgue at St. Peter's begging for help. What am I supposed to do?" "Well, hell! I think you should attack the place with a shotgun and blow people away. Anything for Mark Sway." "Give me the credit cards and the cash, Glint. I'm in a hurry." He reached in his pockets. "You're nuts. This is ridiculous." "Stay by the phone. Do not leave this place, okay. I'll call you later." She grabbed his keys, cash, and two credit cards-Visa and Texaco.
He followed her to the door. "Take it easy with the Visa. It's almost to the limit." "Why am I not surprised?" She kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Glint. Take care of Momma Love." "Call me," he said, thoroughly defeated.
She eased through the door and disappeared in the darkness.
— TROM THE MOMENT MARK JUMPED INTO THE CAR AND HID on the floor, Reggie became an accomplice to his escape. But, unless he murdered someone before they were caught, it was doubtful her crime would be punishable by incarceration. She was thinking more along the lines of community service, perhaps a bit of restitution, and forty years of probation. Hell, she'd give them all the probation they wanted. It would be her first ofFense. She, and her lawyer, could make a strong argument that the kid was being hunted by the Mafia, and he was all alone, and, well, dammit, somebody had to do something! She couldn't worry about legal niceties when her client was out there begging for help. Maybe she could pull strings and keep her license to practice.
She paid the parking guard fifty cents, and refused eye contact. She had circled through the lot one time. The guard was in another world. Mark was rolled into a tight coil somewhere in the darkness under the dashboard, and he remained there until she turned on Union and headed for the river.
"Is it safe now?" he asked nervously.
"I think so." He sprang into the seat, and surveyed the landscape. The digital clock gave the time as twelve-fifty. The six lanes of Union Avenue were deserted. She drove three blocks, catching red lights at each one, while waiting for Mark to speak.
"So where are we going?" she finally asked.
"The Alamo." "The Alamo?" she repeated without a trace of a smile.
He shook his head. Adults could be so dumb at times. "It's a joke, Reggie." "Sorry." "I take it you haven't seen Pee-Wee's Big Adventure." "Is that a movie?" "Forget it. Just forget it." They waited for another red light.
"I like your car better," he said, rubbing his hand along the Accord's console and taking a sudden interest in the radio.
"That's good, Mark. This street is about to stop at the river, and I think we should discuss exactly where it is you want to go." "Well, right now, I just want to leave Memphis, okay? I really don't care where we go, I just want to get out of Dodge." "And once we leave Memphis, where might we be going? A destination would be nice." "Let's cross the bridge by the Pyramid, okay?" "Fair enough. You want to go to Arkansas?" "Why not? Yeah, sure, let's go to Arkansas." "Fair enough." With that decision out of the way, he leaned forwara and carefully inspected the radio. He pushed a button, turned a knob, and Reggie braced for a loud burst of rap or heavy metal. He made adjustments with both hands. Just a kid with a new toy. He should be home in a warm bed, and he should sleep late since it's Saturday. And fresh from bed he should watch cartoons, then, still in pajamas, play Nintendo with all its buttons and gadgets, much like he was doing right then with the radio. The Four Tops finished a song.
"You listen to oldies?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
"Sometimes. I thought you'd like it. It's almost one o'clock in the morning, not the best time for the loud stuff, you know." "Why do you think I like oldies?" "Well, Reggie, to be perfectly honest, I can't see you at a rap concert. And besides, the radio in your car was on this station last time I rode in it." Union Avenue stopped at the river, and they sat at another red light. A police car stopped next to them, and the cop behind the wheel frowned at Mark.
"Don't look at him," Reggie scolded.
The light changed, and she turned right onto Riverside Drive. The cop followed. "Don't turn around," she said under her breath. "Just act normal." "Damn, Reggie, why is he following us?" "I have no idea. Just be cool." ''He recognized me. My face has been plastered all over the newspapers this week, and the cop recognized me. This is just great, Reggie. We make our big escape, and ten minutes later the cops nail us." "Be quiet, Mark. I'm trying to drive and watch him at the same time." He eased downward, sliding slowly until his butt was on the edge of the seat and his head was just above the door handle. "What's he doing?" he whispered.
Her eyes darted back and forth from the mirror to the street. "Just following. No, wait. Here he comes." The police car eased by them, then sped away. "He's gone," she said, and Mark breathed again.
They entered 1-40 at the downtown ramp, and were on the bridge over the Mississippi River. He gazed at the brightly lit Pyramid to the right, then spun around to admire the Memphis skyline fading in the distance. He stared in awe, as if he'd never seen it before. Reggie wondered if the poor child had ever left Memphis.
An Elvis song started. "You like Elvis?" he asked.
"Mark, believe it or not, when I was a teenager growing up in Memphis, a bunch of us girls would ride over to Elvis's house on Sundays and watch him play touch football. This was before he was really famous, and he still lived at home with his parents in a nice little house. He went to Humes High School, which is now Northside." "I live in north Memphis. At least I did. I don't know where I live now." "We'd go to his concerts, and we'd see him hanging out around town. He was just an average guy, at first, then things changed. He got so famous he couldn't live a normal life." "Just like me, Reggie," he said with sudden smile. "Think of it. Me and Elvis. Pictures on the front page. Photographers everywhere. All sorts of people looking for us. It's tough being famous." "Yeah, and wait till tomorrow, in the Sunday paper. I can see the headlines now, big, bold lettersSWAY ESCAPES." it s great! And they'll have my smiling face on the front page again with cops all around me like I'm some kind of serial killer. And those same cops will sound so stupid trying to explain how an eleven-year-old kid escaped from jail. I wonder if I'm the youngest kid to ever escape from jail." "Probably." "I do feel sorry for Doreen, though. Do you think she'll get in trouble?" "Was she on duty?" "No. It was Telda and Denny. Wouldn't bother me if they got fired." "Doreen's probably okay. She's been there a long time." "I faked her out, you know. I started acting like I was going into shock, just fading away to la-la land as Romey called it. Every time she checked on me, I acted weirder and weirder; quit talking to her, just stared at the ceiling and groaned. She knows all about Ricky, and she became convinced it was happening to me too. Yesterday, she brought in a medic from the jail, and he examined me. Said I was fine. But Doreen was worried. I guess I used her." "How'd you get out?" "Played like I was in shock, you know. I worked up a good sweat running around my little cell, then curled up in a ball and sucked my thumb. It scared them so bad, they called the ambulance. I knew if I could make it to St. Peter's, I was home free. That place is a zoo." "And you just disappeared?" "They had me on this stretcher, and when they turned their backs I got up and, yeah, just disappeared.
Look, Reggie, there were people dying right and left, so no one was concerned with me. It was easy." They were over the bridge and into Arkansas. The highway was flat and lined on both sides by truck stops and motels. He turned to admire the Memphis skyline once more, but it was gone.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"Memphis. I like to look at the tall buildings downtown. A teacher told me once that people actually live in those tall buildings. It's hard to believe." "Why is it hard to believe?" "I saw a movie once about this little rich kid who lived in a tall building in a city, and he roamed around the streets just having a great time. He knew the cops by their first names. He stopped taxis when he wanted to go somewhere. And at night, he'd sit on the balcony and watch the streets below. I've always thought that would be a wonderful way to live. No cheap house trailers. No trashy neighbors. No pickups parked in the street in front of your house." "You can have it, Mark. It's yours, if you want it." He gave her a long look. "How?" "Right now the FBI will give you whatever you want. You can live in a tall building in a big city, or you can live in a cabin in the mountains. You pick the place." "I've been thinking about that." "You can live on a beach and play in the ocean, or you can live in Orlando and go to Disney World every day." "That'd be okay for Ricky. I'm too old. I've heard the tickets are too expensive." "You'd probably get a lifetime pass if you asked for yuu ana your mom can get anything you want." "Yeah, but, Reggie, who wants it if you're afraid of your shadow. For three nights now, I've had nightmares about these people, Reggie. I don't want to be scared for the rest of my life. They'll get me one day, I know they will." "So what do you do, Mark?" "I don't know, but I've been thinking real hard about something." "I'm listening." "One good thing about jail is that it allows you to think a lot." He placed one foot on one knee and wrapped his fingers around it. "Think about this, Reggie. What if Romey told me a lie? He was drunk, taking pills, out of his mind. Maybe he was just talking to hear himself talk. I was there, remember. The man was crazy. Said all sorts of weird things, and at first I believed all of it. I was scared to death, and I wasn't thinking clearly. My head was hurting where he'd slapped me. But now, well, I'm not so sure. All week I've been remembering crazy stuff he said and did, and maybe I was too eager to believe everything." She was driving exactly fifty-five mil. es per hour and hanging on every word. She had no idea where he was going with this, and she had no idea where the car was going either.
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